Author name: liliaeth
Artist name: spn_2008
Word count: 25168
Betas: Much thanks to creepylicious and Mary Laws
Warnings: mentions of child abuse, both sexual as physical, trade in children, non graphic depictions and mentions of adults raping children, non graphic flashback to the rape, abuse and dehumanization of a child
Summary: Shortly after John Winchester lost his wife to demons, he lost his oldest son to a Skinwalker. Now, twelve years later, he's hunted down every single Skinwalker he could find and killed them, unaware that his oldest is still alive. That the monster that took his child hadn't taken his life, just his humanity. That she'd turned his child on the command of a human slave ring that traded in Skinwalker children. Dean ended up saved and raised by the Hunter Bobby Singer, but what's a young pup to do when his foster father goes missing and the only one who can help him find him, is a Hunter who despises his kind and would kill him on the spot?
This is the second story in my Skinwalker Dean series. The prequel can be found here
Masterpost Art: Can be found here and is made by the far more awesome than I deserve spn_2008
Masterpost Fic: http://liliaeth.livejournal.com/400286.html
When Bobby woke up, he was tied to the chair, again. He glared up at the Pack’s leader, their Alpha.
“You shouldn’t have lied to the boy.” The shifter said. “He’s been lied to enough in his life.”
Bobby started in on another round of coughing, before he could answer.
“I wasn’t lying.” And for a moment he wondered what their game was. He didn’t know enough, but he wouldn’t let them have his son.
“I know your kind…” the shifter growled, mentally on the verge between man and dog. Bobby shivered , but tried to stare straight in his eyes. “Sick and disgusting, treating children, even your own kind, as if they were take Burger chain toys, ready to be thrown to the trash as soon as you’re tired of them."
Bobby faced the Skinwalkers, staring at those eyes, speaking out the very feelings he’d had about the men who’d taken Dean, and then sold him to be used by the scum of the earth. It was the tremor in the Skinwalker’s voice more than anything he actually said, that made Bobby realize he’d made a mistake.
The Skinwalkers had nothing to do with the trade ring and right now they were going to kill him for the very crime he’d wanted to murder Dean’s tormentors for. It almost started a giggle that burst out of his pained throat like bursts out of a hot water geyser.
Cody was about to hit him, coming close to shredding him to pieces with his bare human hands when Bobby was finally able to bring himself under control again.
“I’m not one of them.” He finally managed to say when he could bring the giggling to an end. “I was hunting them as well.”
“Those bastards you’re after, I was hunting them, so I could kill them, for what they did to my Dean.”
Cody hung closer, his nose practically touching Bobby’s skin. If he were any more doglike, Bobby would expect his tongue to fall out of his mouth and start slobbering. Bobby had to stop himself before he started giggling again.
“You’re lying.” Cody tried again, but Bobby could see he was half convinced already, fighting the desire to give in and admit he’d been wrong. "We followed the boy’s trace to a trader hot spot, one of your ‘friends’ was trying to use him to get into the dog fights."
Bobby froze, "What? No. Dean’s at home, I left him at home." And that’s when Cody finally let go of him, taking a step back.
"He was there.” He went to a bag lying on the stairways at the entrance of the basement, and pulled out a hat, a far too familiar hat. It was one of Bobby’s that Dean liked to "borrow", Bobby could see the fabric of one of Dean’s favorite shirts sticking out as well. “Some guy brought him in.”
“What guy?” Bobby demanded.
“Big fellow. Dark hair, cropped black beard, strong face. Went by John.” Bobby shivered. “We know him. His very scent is a warning to the Packs, I’ve traced it myself in nests of my kind as my people’s bodies lay cooling in their own blood, downed by his silver.
“Winchester.” Bobby whispered, terrified for Dean now. “Damn idiot,” he grumbled out, thinking of his boy, his Dean, “What the fuck does he think he’s doing? He’s supposed to stay away from that bastard, the guy’s a psychopath.”
Their eyes met and it was then that Cody started giggling as well. Bobby almost feared he’d gone as mad as a hyena, but instead he just stood there.
“You really aren’t with them?”
“I’m not with them.” Bobby repeated, becoming scared now for his Dean and whatever-the-fuck the kid thought he was doing. He wondered how Dean could have been so stupid. As if there hadn’t been a reason he’d made sure his son never met Winchester before. As if there hadn’t been a reason why he’d never tried the trick of using Dean as bait to get into one of the dog fights. It was too dangerous. If anyone in the trade ring recognized him - if Dean got hurt, or worse, killed - he wouldn’t have been able to live with himself.
But Winchester would have no such concerns. He’d use Dean up, throw him to the wolves and then set out to kill him and every other Skinwalker in front of him. Even if they were as much victims as Dean was.
“We’ve got to stop him. Winchester will kill them all.”
Cody nodded, his finger turning into a claw as he used it to release Bobby from his ropes. No apologies for tying him up, beating him or leaving him a mess, just a slow hand to help him up. “Not if we find him first.” The Skinwalker said, almost carrying all of Bobby’s weight as they went up the stairs. “We’ve already tracked them down to their motel room.”
And Bobby knew he should be worried for his fellow Hunter, knew he shouldn’t be siding with a bunch of monsters over his fellow humans. But this was his only child’s safety that was at stake and that meant he wouldn’t give a damn if these Shifters killed Winchester and tore him to shreds.
All he cared about was finding Dean, so he could ground him for life for being stupid enough to let himself be used by a human monster like Winchester. He thought he’d taught his son better than that, Dean did know better than that, and Bobby was never going to let him out of the house again until he was sure that the boy knew exactly not to risk his life for whatever reason he thought he had to.
But first they had to find them, and he hoped and prayed that the shifters noses were right on track.
Dean was shivering, John had thrown him his bag as soon as they got in, but Dean still missed his hat. Sam smelled like vomit, but Dean didn’t have it in him to tell the kid to please go brush his teeth already. Not after dealing with a break in like that. Dean grabbed his jacket, grateful he’d at least left that one behind when they went to the bar. His feet were still bare, and he hadn’t thought to pack a spare set of shoes.
Sam was staring at him again. Dean had to fight the urge to ask him to stop. But better not to bark at the boy, like barking at a bear cub, while its momma was in the same room.
“How much do you know about those two?” Winchester finally asked him. Dean was almost surprised to actually be addressed. He wasn’t sure what to say to that. “They’re Hunters. Dad knows them, but he doesn’t like Willis much.”
“Willis’ is too eager to put a leash on my collar. He’s tried to buy me from Dad a few times. Dad keeps refusing, but he won’t take the hint. That’s about it.”
“If he’d found you here alone, while I was gone, what do you think he would have done?”
“Probably? He’d try to steal me. Not that he would have succeeded, I’d have probably bit his ass if he tried.”
“What? Don’t want a new master?” John asked with a smirk.
“Him? Hell no, he smells.”
And for a moment, they laughed together, right before Winchester remembered what Dean was and got angry again. Dean quickly turned away from him.
“So - what? Are you going to tie me up again? If you are, could I please change first, that bathroom floor is freezing.”
Winchester didn’t answer right away, instead he got something that rattled - the chain.
Dean closed his eyes, mentally preparing himself to be locked up, even as he was still shaking from the memories that had been hitting him since the bar.
“Give me your hands.” Winchester said.
Dean forced himself to comply. It wasn’t the same chain, instead it was a pair of shackles.
“There’s an extra blanket in the shelf under the bed.” Winchester added, Dean wondered what he meant with that, but then he saw Sam grabbing for the shelf and pulling out a thick red blanket that smelled like it had been puked on, but looked thick and fluffy. “You can sleep on that.”
Then Winchester attached the shackles to the heater on the wall, Sam quickly made work of putting the blanket on the floor, it was on top of a carpet, so it’d be somewhat softer than the floor in the bathroom. Sam gave Dean some sheets and the blanket from the car as well. Dean was grateful, that was probably the most comfortable he’d get with Winchester and he was glad for at least that much kindness as it was all that Winchester was likely to give.
The shackles had some silver in them, leaving faint marks on his skin, but not enough to keep him from sleeping. Just enough to remind him not to try and turn. He didn’t care and slept within seconds. He woke up in the dark, breathing harshly, and shaking as he remembered his master’s hands on his skin.
“Such a pretty boy.” The man had said as he left a trail of kisses down Dean’s neck. There had been a second voice, another man, but Dean couldn’t remember his face, just the scent, spices and ash and something else… but all he recalled of that man was his wide open legs as Dean had been guided between them. Dean had woken up just as the man had made him open his mouth in the dream and barely managed to keep from screaming.
“Go back to sleep.” He heard Winchester’s rough voice, but he couldn’t. The man had been staring at him as he slept and it only made Dean feel sick. He didn’t want to go back, he never wanted to see anyone involved in the dog fights ever again. Mostly he just wanted to go home, see his dad and work on his dad’s truck. But he couldn’t, not as long as his dad was missing.
Winchester had sat up and stared at him, then he took the blanket and covered Dean up under it.
Dean had no idea what to say to that.
“Whatever happens, I won’t let those guys get you back. I’ll kill you before that happens.”
It was what allowed Dean to finally fall asleep, feeling safe. His next dream was hunting, going after a rabbit and putting his teeth down, gobbling up its heart, blood and organs before he finished of its flesh. He smiled.
They left early the next morning. Sam had wanted to fight his dad, to tell him that it wasn’t right to be left behind like this. But that meant going in against his dad in front of the two strangers and Singer. Singer probably wouldn’t care, but there was no way that Sam was going to embarrass his father in front of other Hunters. So he played the part of the good son - the good soldier - Guarding the home front while his father went out to save the world.
He was bored within minutes of his father leaving. He tried practicing his knife throwing, read a bit more in the lore book that Pastor Jim had given him last month and watched some more television. Trying not to admit just how scared he was now that his father was off like this.
He lay down on the bed and tried to think, anything he could do to help his dad. He was pissed that he wasn’t even allowed to go to the library, in there he might have been able to find something on missing kids, get some more information on whatever Dad and the others were getting themselves into. The library might not have much, but if these bad guys took kids, he might have been able to find something.
Instead he was stuck here doing nothing. He just wished Dad would stop seeing him as a little kid. He was thirteen, that was old enough to help out on a hunt, he was sure of it.
This time when the room was broken into, he had no warning. Two of them came in through the window, a third kicked open the door. Four dogs, two men, and two women. Sam went for his Colt, Dad had put some silver bullets in it earlier, just in case, but he didn’t get a chance to grab it before the first of the dogs was on to him, forcing him to the bed. It’s nose pressed up against his thigh.
“Let go of me,” he whispered, as he grabbed for the knife under the pillow. Another dog was at his throat, stopping him from moving.
Then another man stepped in. Stocky, dressed in fleece and with a trucker’s cap on his head. His movements were slow and Sam could see bruises on his face.
“Where is he?”
That’s when Sam realized who it was. The hat was kind of a big giveaway.
“Singer? He’s with Dad and the others.” He stared at Bobby, wondering what he was doing with the monsters. Were they forcing him to work for them?
Bobby Singer kicked against the bed. A loud damn it escaped his lips.
“We’ll find him,” One of the Skinwalkers said to the Hunter as two of the dogs shifted into their human form, their nakedness a clear attack on Sam’s nerves. Not that either of them even seemed aware of it. Singer had been like that as well. Sam was just happy that the two on top of him hadn’t bothered to change. That would have been weird.
“You’re Winchester’s boy, right?”
“How the fuck did your father manage to get my boy to go along with you. Dean knows better than that.”
“He was looking for you. Dad offered to help.”
The Hunter cursed at that. “Bloody fucking bastard Rufus. He knows better than to leave the boy alone like that. Where the fuck was he, letting the kid go up to a psycho like that.”
Sam tried to pull away, suddenly more scared of the human - hopefully still human at least - in the room than he was of the actual monsters.
He turned to one of the Skinwalkers, the one that had been a German Sheppard before. “Can you?”
“Don’t worry, we can still track him.” The Hunter sighed in relief; the dogs pulled back a bit, while one of the human-looking ones grabbed Sam’s knife from under the pillow.
Another was staring at the blankets and the sheets on the floor where Singer had slept - Singer, or “Dean” as Bobby Singer called him. Then one of them noticed the shackles, growling at the sight. Sam was pulled up, forced to sit. The man in front of him seemed ready to kill.
“He’s just a boy, Cody.”
The Skinwalker closed his eyes, acknowledging the truth of that. Finally the man pushed Sam back on the bed, Sam raised his hands, desperate to protect himself.
“Give me those shackles.” And then before Sam could say another word, his hands were pulled behind his back and tied up with the shackles. Sam was just glad they were still pretty loose on him. “I should put some acid on them so you know what it feels like.” The man growled.
“We’re talking him with us. He can be leverage against the piece of scum that sired him.”
Sam started trashing, trying to get away, but he was well and truly caught in between two of the Skinwalkers. Bobby Singer apologized with a look before joining the other Skinwalkers in the front, while Sam was taken to the back of the van.
He had to find a way out, warn his Dad. He had no idea how he was going to get out of this one. It was only as they locked the shackles to a hook in the van that he suddenly realized something.
“Dean … Singer’s name is Dean.”
He was just happy that his father hadn’t known that, because there’s no way he wouldn’t have shot Dean if he had.
Willis followed Winchester’s car from a distance. Bruce was on the phone with someone. Willis didn’t really care. Too busy concentrating on what lay before them. They stopped shortly before they got to a parking lot in the back of nowhere. Willis parked next to Winchester; he opened the window. “So what do we do?”
“You two keep on watch, follow me in, but don’t get too close. I take the Skinwalker inside with me. Let’s hope at least some of the bastards inside have leads on the rest of the group.”
The dog took a deep breath before getting out of the car. Its feet were still bare, but at least it was dressed. Willis had tried to ask Winchester about that earlier, about why the kid had been naked in the first place. Winchester had simply said the boy had had to change when they were at the bar they’d gone to. But that was no excuse for not letting him get his clothes back after.
They left the car, passing a few dozen automobiles, from cheap foreign cars to big American stand-ins for penis size and some of those sport cars that really only spoke of their owner’s suffering from mid-life crisis. They followed a couple, dressed in their fineries as the woman kept talking about some big black stud they’d seen last time. It took a few minutes before Willis realized she was talking about a Doberman-shaped-Skinwalker.
He watched as Winchester headed up to the doorman, the guy asked him some questions before waving him in to the back. Bruce was stalling and Willis turned to him. “What the fuck’s going on with you?”
Bruce just shrugged and didn’t answer. Willis couldn’t help a harsh grumble as he went up to the doorman as well. The guy stared at them, a gruff demand for an entrance fee. Bruce started muttering a protest, but got out his wallet. Willis hated wasting money as much as Bruce did, but it’s not like they couldn’t get it back after they took out the monsters in charge.
The place looked like one of those underground wrestling arenas, with the required cage in the middle of the room. Currently, the cage held a dog and a man, both of them collared. The man tried to go for the dog’s neck, but was quickly pushed to the floor. It was only as the man got up that Willis noticed the man’s wide mouth filled with shark fangs. Vampire.
He didn’t even wince when the dog tore into the vamp’s guts. The crowd was screaming for blood, demanding the shifter to tear the vamp’s head off. Both sides had men in the corner waiting anxiously, yelling at their fighter to go for the other’s throat.
Eventually, the dog was ordered to stop, while the vampire lay bleeding on the floor. Willis guessed it was too early in the evening for one of the fighters to be killed off.
He noticed Winchester and the dog heading over to an office in the back, while a man with three boys on a leash made his way to the ring, taking a place, while his dogs settled on the floor at his feet, naked and displaying scars across their torso. One of them was extremely pale, while the two others settled in dog form as they knelt down.
What the hell was up with these people?
He fought the distractions and tried to get closer to the office, and see what was going on, when suddenly Bruce grabbed his arm. “Just stay put, Willis. This isn’t our fight.”
“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?”
“Doing the smart thing for once.”
“What?” He turned around, facing his partner; the man seemed too sure of himself.
“I had a talk to someone earlier. He made a very convincing argument… all we have to do is stand back and do nothing, and we might actually earn some money instead of wasting it for a change.”
Willis stood stunned. “We can’t leave Winchester on his own. What if those bastards get their hands on him?”
“They’re not bastards, Willis. They just want their property back. Winchester was just stupid enough to bring up the dog to the very guy that caught said dog in the first place.”
“They’re not gonna kill him, Carter. If he’s smart, he’ll just take their offer and leave. It’s not like he’s any better than them. At least with these guys, the dog’ll stand a chance, get an owner that’ll stop him from being a threat to anyone innocent and won’t have to die.”
“They’re offering us a job, Carter. Remember your dreams, about having one of those dogs for yourself? You could actually get one. They could get you a young one; a puppy that’ll be devoted to no one but you. And all you’ve got to do, is do what we’ve always done. We’ll just have to bring in the monsters alive and get paid for it.”
Willis stood stunned, staring up at the window, wishing he could hear what was going on in there. But any kind of ruckus was hidden in the noise of the crowd surrounding them.
“He’s a Hunter.” Willis tried. But it didn’t seem like Bruce was about to listen, instead he watched as his partner- his friend - pulled out a gun and aimed it his way.
“Don’t make me shoot you, buddy. Please, we could have all we ever wanted and stop monsters beside. Don’t be an idiot.”
Dean kept walking, even as flashbacks kept going through his mind. Seeing other dogs walking alongside their masters, as he had once done with his. Him and the others, waiting to see which one would be sent into the ring and hoping it wasn’t them. Dean had been too young of course, but he could smell the scent of fear and bloodlust on the others.
The smell of dead flesh pervaded the air as he saw several of the walking corpses lapping up to their masters, walking, begging with dead flesh and no heartbeats to give away their positions. They weren’t rotting, but they were meat, dead meat and the mere thought of that dead flesh between his teeth was nearly enough to make him drool.
One of the guards pointed them in the direction of the office and Winchester pulled his leash as if to drag him along. Dean didn’t need the reminder, except that he kept remembering before. Smells and touches, a slap in the face, a stick on his back and ass, hands keeping him down as the body on top of him pushed him into the mattress until it found its release and pushed him to the back of the bed, where he curled up to sleep, covered in fur. The eyes of the others as they vehemently didn’t stare at him when he came downstairs the next morning. A soft lick of a tongue, helping him clean up his furry body, friendly touches from the others, a rough bite from the alpha of the house when he went a bit too far as they tumbled over one another.
That scent, what was it, cinnamon? No something else, something specific, and then seeing him standing there, Donald. Seeing him wait as another guard closed the door behind them and the door fell shut with a sense of finality.
“Donald,” Winchester said.
“You know what’s funny, ‘John’” the man said, putting a clear emphasis on Winchester’s first name. Winchester just glared, but he did that all the time, “when you see a man come in with your own stolen property and hear him telling you not to touch other people’s stuff.”
Dean froze, looking in between Winchester and the guards.
“What are you talking about?”
“I used to have this friend, a good friend, a good client of mine. Every once in a while he’d buy one of my dogs and I’d advise him on which ones would fit him best. Of course he didn’t always listen, but this one time he made a very specific demand. “ Donald got closer to Winchester, staring him in the eye, before turning to Dean.
“See, normally, he got fighting dogs, he wouldn’t care too much what they looked like, as long as they were likely to grow big and tough. But as he got older he asked me for a prettier one. A dog that he could play with, raise to his hand and primarily want to take to his bed.
I had a few dogs in line, you know, nice enough kids, that’d make good pets. But I knew they weren’t what he wanted. Not really. So there I was, wondering how I’d have to tell him he would have to wait till the next batch when I see this little boy on a motel parking lot, sitting there, throwing rocks at a can. It was already getting late and I couldn’t help wonder. “Where are this boy’s parents, why aren’t they keeping an eye on this kid?” When the kid looks my way and I see his eyes, these gorgeous green eyes that could make a grown men melt in a puddle from the sheer adorableness in itself. “
“Just get to the point.” Winchester barked out.
But Donald didn’t seem to care what Winchester wanted. “Now I don’t normally grab kids from the streets, it calls too much attention to my operation. Hell, it’s the fastest way to get the cops to shut you down. Far easier to find people with a need, women desperate and on the edge, looking for some money, some drugs, something, anything. And make them an offer. I don’t lie to them, not really. When I tell them the kids will go to nice families, it’s the plain truth. The buyers will take care of their children’s needs, will feed them, clothe their human forms when needed and give them toys and attention that any child will crave. Many of these women, people, they’re almost happy to get rid of the kid.”
The image of a woman on fire kept playing through Dean’s head.
“Several of them have even called me back a few years later, when they have another kid to get rid of. My customers love those, when they can get a sibling of their first dog. The women get money, the kids get a home and everyone’s happy.”
Everyone except for the kids, Dean thought as he remembered that first collar, that first day.
“And if they don’t, well, all I got to do is provide an accident. A drug overdose, a car accident, just a poor unfortunate thing to happen. Who cares where the kid goes to afterwards with no one left to give a damn?”
The man’s hand on his face, staring into Dean’s eyes.
“But no, not this one. There were no parents around, no one to make a deal with. Just a lonely little boy, sitting outside a dark motel, out to be grabbed by anyone with the worst possible intentions. If I hadn’t taken him, someone else might have. Someone who didn’t care about keeping him alive and well. And he was just so perfect, still is.”
A hand touched his lips, Dean licked the man’s fingers before he could stop himself, hated himself for doing so. He wasn’t a pet anymore, he tried to remind himself. But there was this scent, this ever present scent.
“So I took him with me, he screamed, but that stopped as soon as I got my hand on his mouth, as I got him to the trunk of my car and left him in there. By the time we got home, he wasn’t even knocking at the car lid anymore, just sat up, his blond curls all ruffled and he looked at me with those tear filled eyes. It only set out those green eyes even more. “
Winchester was shivering now and Dean wished he could just sink into the wallpaper.
“I grabbed him out of my car and he tried to fight me, as much as a five year old can fight. I knew then that I had a winner for sure. But I held on to his hands until he exhausted himself and then I took him inside. He was so scared as we walked past the cages with the other dogs, hearing them howl at him. I could have just thrown him in with any of them, and ordered them to do the job. But I wanted things done right, so I took him to the back of the kennels, to the oldest of my animals, the first Skinwalker I got my hands on.”
Dean remembered her, a big black snout, staring up at him as he was thrown into the room. He’d been so scared then, even as he realized now how gentle she’d been at the time.
“When I got him out of the room,… sometimes the dogs disappoint me. You get this gorgeous kid and they turn out to be some kind of mongrel, flawed and ugly. Sometimes they’re sick and deformed and you have to put them down, for their sake as well as my own. But this time, I knew I hit the jackpot as soon as I saw that gorgeous black head crawl out of the remains of the boy’s bloody clothing. Prettiest Rottweiler puppy I’d ever seen. Worth every bit of trouble he’d cause me afterwards.“
Dean didn’t even know why he felt so ashamed at the thought of causing trouble, he should have been happy for it.
“Brought the cops right to my door. I would have lost a whole set of dogs if a friend in the police force hadn’t warned me a couple of hours before they burst in. They were looking for a kid after all, not for some dog shelter. So I sent them to the backyard, said I’d been seeing tracks of a wild dog, maybe they’d find something there. I had to sacrifice my girl, my first catch. But she was getting older in years anyway, and I had plenty of others to take her place.”
Dean could almost feel the rage radiating from John Winchester, not sure what was going on with him, but scared the man would be even more pissed with him than he'd already been before.
“It can’t…” Winchester whispered.
“So I took those rags, not like the dog would need them, and threw them and the bitch in the old cottage, the cops saw her running out, fur still covered in blood and I didn’t even need to spell anything out for them. “
He started laughing.
“Some Hunter took her out a few days later, wish I could have sent him a fruit basket for that one, for solving my runaway problem like that.”
Winchester took a step forward, trying to make a grab for Donald, but two of the guards grabbed hold of him before he could do anything.
“So I took my new puppy, had him marked,“ his hand touched Dean’s ear again, the left over scars that had never healed up. “It’s not easy to do with Skinwalkers, they heal too fast. But if you put the markings in with silver and then use silver nitrate to cleanse the wound, keeping it open, the wounds remain, making it possible to recognize your dog, no matter what shape they take, or how old they get.”
All Dean remembered of that was the pain, screaming, howling as the cuts tried to heal, but couldn't.
“Best sale I’d made in years, you should have seen my friend’s face when I delivered his new dog. Don’t think the dog left his bed for the first week or so. But then I always make sure to put some training in those dogs before I sell them. It beefs up the price when the new owner doesn’t have to worry about his new purchase whining about wanting to go home, wanting mommy and daddy …”
Sticks, feeling the sting of the stick whenever he tried to talk, begging for Sammy, please, Daddy and Sammy need me. Crying in his cage, howling as the stick hit his side, crawling out, belly on the floor, please no pain, please…
“If it were up to me, I’d just cut out their vocal cords, and get rid of the fuss, but some people like to hear their dog beg. To each their own I guess.”
Dean was trembling now as Donald pulled him closer, forcing his lips on Dean’s.
“I remember those lips, I knew what they were meant for, the first time I saw them.”
Dean wanted to growl, to slash, to run away, but he was trapped, lost. Oh God, Dad, I’m so sorry.
“And then a few years later, my friend dies. Some bastard broke into his house, killed most of his dogs and left and I thought what a shame it was, to lose that fine a dog. Especially after I’d finally managed to find a Rottweiler bitch that I could have bred him with as soon as they matured enough. I actually grieved for that loss, more so even than I did for my friend.”
He finally let go of Dean and Dean sank back as far away as he could manage without bumping into the remaining guards.
“I could have gotten rich on those pups alone.” Donald said with a theatrical sigh.
“I’ll kill you.” Winchester growled out, Dean winced away from him. But Donald wasn’t listening to him, too focused on his own monologue.
“And then you stepped in. This perfect dog in your tracks. I almost kissed you when I recognized him. I always remember my dogs, John. Always. And nobody tries to sell me my own dogs, especially when they stole them from me in the first place.”
Suddenly five guns were aimed at Winchester’s head.